


Riding Out the Wave

by theashemarie



Category: Splatoon
Genre: F/F, I love her, Rating for Cursing, Salmon Run, Swearing, Yeah you read that right, background agent 24, eventual heist fic, first time writing for this fandom, i took some liberties with pearl's characterization, pearl is hopeless, pearl's a potty mouth: nintendo confirmed, she's so fun to write though, this takes place during salmon run and i'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-05-28 12:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15049256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theashemarie/pseuds/theashemarie
Summary: Pearl likes it when things are tender and quiet, when she can imagine that it'll be easy when she eventually tells Marina about how twisted up and warm she gets around her. Until then, Pearl likes to pretend. But, when a brand deal with Mr. Grizz goes south, Pearl must confront things directly.





	1. Adventures in Babysitting

**Author's Note:**

> How about that Octo expansion, huh? I've loved these two since the game came out, but the Octo expansion really cemented a lot of things about them for me, so I finally got around to writing something. We need more fic of these two, so I'll gladly throw my addition on to the pile!

It’s a brand deal that does it. Grizzco is fishy, but they (Marina) don’t want to alienate a loyal advertiser and they (still Marina) want to support a local business. Pearl couldn’t care less, to be completely honest, but Marina is so positive! About the whole thing! Saying things like “Oh Pearl, just _think_! It’ll bring in freelancers! Then Mr. Grizz will be set!” Pearl knows for a fact that Mr. Grizz is already set, considering the emails she’s read on her father’s computer, but she doesn’t mention that because Marina is so damn cute when she’s smiling and clapping her hands.

Yeah, Pearl has a problem. She knows she’s wrapped around Marina’s finger, but Marina doesn’t know it yet. Pearl also knows that she can’t say anything about her feelings (oh, and there are many feelings), because she’s... Well, she’s scared. And she’s not sure Marina feels the same way. Well, she kinda doesn’t know. Marina is really handsy and touchy-feely, but that’s probably a Marina thing. An... Ocotling thing maybe... Agent 8 isn’t like that but maybe it’s a specific Octoling thing. An if-you’re-close-to-an-Octoling thing.

Yeah, Peal knows she’s hopeless.

Pearl’s had an embarrassing crush on Marina for a while, but the whole Agent 8 thing really localized and magnified it for her. For a while there, she thought for sure Marina was going to figure it out, especially after she threatened to cut Cap’n Cuttlefish if he hurt her, but Marina never figured it out. But, there are moments when they’re back in their apartment and Marina touches Pearl just there, with this tender look on her face, and Pearl swears that she sees something there. Marina’s smiles are like the clouds parting before a brilliant sunset, but those moments look like an emotion that Pearl recognizes but can’t put a name to. Marina always looks at Pearl so fondly when it’s late and they’re lit only by the television; things are softer then, including their bickering, and especially Marina’s quiet gazes. In these moments, Pearl swears that there’s something growing between them that they’re tiptoeing around, testing, probing, but never leaping into.

But, predictably, come morning, with the harsh light of the sun and then the studio lights, Pearl isn’t so sure. She never makes her move, never asks, because this is something that should be reserved for quiet and private, but by the time they get there, she’s talked herself back into the corner of uncertainty. She second guesses, fears she’ll ruin things with Marina if she asks, so she keeps her crush to herself.

So, the brand deal. What Pearl thought it would be: Posing with Marina in a bunch of Grizzco Brand clothing from Mr. Grizz’s new clothing line (it looks about as grungy and crusty as the stuff he throws at his part-timers as compensation for working a few shifts; Pearl half-expects all the clothes to be straight from the bowels of Mr. Grizz’s closet, but she doesn’t say that, just wrinkles her posh little nose at it like her Papa taught her to), holding their signature weapons and smiling a lot (well, Marina smiling, Pearl glowering and smirking because she knows she looks like a gremlin). But, that’s not what she gets.

Record scratch, freeze-frame. Right there. Witness Pearl’s personal hell.

What she gets from the brand deal: Spawning Grounds at dusk, two cameras, attached to drones, two teammates, who look to be as new as the Jr. Marks stitched into the shoulders of their Grizzco Mandated Uniforms, dualies and splat brella in the rotation, both of which the newbies are blinking at in confusion, Marina with an Octobrush and Pearl with a Splattershot Jr.

So, no, she’s not happy.

She poses for the pictures. She follows Grizz’s barked, tinny orders when they filter in from her earpiece. She’s not happy about it. One time, she pretends to not hear him and jumps in the water and he’s contractually obligated to revive her, and she _lives_ for the sound of his cursing as he does so. But then Marina gives her _this look_ , the kind of look that makes her want to crawl out of her own skin and beg for forgiveness because she’s disappointed her.

She’s so, so, _so_ hopeless but she doesn’t care really. Marina makes her want to be better with all of her passion and attention to detail, and the sight of her hands on the turntables always does something to Pearl that just lights her up inside and she just. Wants to make Marina happy. And if that means dealing with the angry bear man then so be it.

“You know what I think?” Pearl says as they’re taking a short snack break. (At least Grizz has the decency to provide food, even if it is cheap and stale.) “I think Grizzco is a glorified daycare.”

Marina glances at the two inklings standing guard over the snacks. One of them has the timing to take a long, loud slurp out of a juice box. “I think you might be right,” Marina answers, bemused. Then, she asks them: “Hey, how old are you?”

“Fifteen,” they chorus in their high-pitched woomy voices.

“Thought so,” Pearl says. Marina does that thing where she tries not to laugh and fails, so what comes out is an adorable little snort. Pearl has to look away to hide an embarrassing blush.

“This is child labor,” Marina mumbles as Grizz calls them back out to finish the shoot. Why he’s in charge is a mystery to Pearl. Shouldn’t there be some sort of middleman out here? What about their manager? This is the last time Pearl’s letting Marina handle business for the foreseeable future.

“Maybe so,” Pearl mumbles back as she watches the kids shoot each other with their weapons. The ink pellets off them harmlessly and paints the immaculate floor, causing Grizz to grumble. Marina mumbles something about a Squee-G being the perfect fix for that but Grizz doesn’t hear her.

They take a few more photos and things are looking to wrap up nicely. The kids are actually pretty good at modeling, so Pearl wonders if they’re actually not just some apprentices that Grizz picked up off some roster. Explains why they don’t know how to use the weapons all that well, if they spend all their time modeling at least.

Then, of course, the foghorn goes off.

“Uh oh,” the kids, who Pearl is now calling Dualies and Brella, chime together.

“‘Uh oh?’ Why uh oh?” Pearl asks, but she has a sinking feeling in her gut, because she knows what the foghorn means.

“Grizz, what the heck is going on?” Marina demands. Her hand flies up to her ear, as if that’ll make Grizz’s answer come out clearer.

“I forgot to mention,” comes the grizzled voice. “There’s a wave coming in.”

“There’s a _what_?” Pearl squawks. Her hands tighten around her Splattershot Jr., and she feels Sheldon’s painstakingly crafted casing crack from the strain.

Marina is pacing—not a good sign. “We’re jumping back to the boat,” she commands.

“Nope, sorry missy.” Pearl can practically _hear_ Grizz’s slimy smile through the comms. “Super jumping is restricted in this area and I have all the permits. We need some action shots. Smile for the cameras!”

“ _Grizz—_!” Pearl begins, taking in a deep breath to unleash the most vibrant and vile curse words she can come up with (the ones she saves for the special occasions), but she’s cut off.

“See you back at the boat!” Grizz sing-songs. Across the Spawning Grounds, the all-too-familiar basket appears. “Now go get me some golden eggs!”

Comms go silent with a loud buzzing sound. Pearl rips hers out. “I’ll kill him,” she declares.

“Not if I get to him first,” Marina mumbles darkly. She grips her Octobrush tighter as the foghorn comes again.

Pearl can see smallfry and chum climb out of the water on the docks. “Let’s kill him together. Hey kids,” she directs towards Dualies and Brella, who are cowering together, “group up and stick with me and Marina. We got this.”

Across the Spawning Grounds, a Steelhead heaves itself out of the water and onto the docks. The kids scurry to huddle behind Marina’s taller frame, and she holds her Octobrush out with perfect form. Suddenly, Pearl remembers that Marina used to be part of an elite fighting force. An Octoling force, and she was high ranking. She holds the Octobrush like it’s an extension of her arm and her whole stance changes, crouched, lethal, familiar, deadly.

Pearl is... hm. That’s attractive, isn’t it? That’s killer. Pearl forgets where she is for a second as she watches Marina launch herself toward the chum. She even takes the Steelhead out by swinging her Octobrush a few times from right below it. Then, she jolts Pearl out of her daze by yelling for help with the eggs. Pearl nearly trips over herself and can’t find the trigger of her weapon for a few seconds. But, when she manages it, Marina beams at her.

And that’s... _hm_.

+++

They’re on the third wave when it finally happens. Pressed against the basket with two dead teammates (Brella and Dualies fought hard) and next to no ink, Pearl knows that her end is coming. She sees a cohock wind back, pan primed to bludgeon her into an inky pulp, and she flinches, her weapon useless. They’re down three eggs and there’s only a couple seconds left. What’s worse is that the whole world will get to see her temporary demise, and that hurts more than anything. She may survive this, but her career probably won’t.

She closes her eyes. This part is never easy. Feeling her whole being fling outward in a burst is never fun, and the resulting respawn is even less fun, but, like every other inkling, she’s used to it. Luckily, Grizzco’s jobs are pretty safe and most people respawn without trouble. There are always exceptions though—

“ _Get away from my Pearlie_!” comes a cry, so guttural that it takes a few seconds for Pearl to identify the voice. That’s _Marina_ , flying through the air as if she has wings, swinging her Octobrush (because of course the weapons didn’t rotate like they were supposed to; this was a glorified photoshoot after all) and howling like there’s death hot on her heals. She destroys the cohocks and chum in a couple swipes of her weapon, slams a bomb down on their teammates’ life preservers, and they all pop eggs into the basket, grabbing quota at the last second.

It’s the hottest thing Pearl’s ever seen. She’s cemented in place as the foghorn goes off again and the salmonids turn tail and run. Marina gives her a bright smile, the complete opposite of the harbinger of death that she just embodied, and she scoops Pearl up into her long arms. Face pressed to Marina’s chest, Pearl can only blink in surprise, limp.

“Oh Pearlie, I was so worried! I turned around you were _gone_!” She gives Pearl a loose shake. “We’re supposed to stick together! You know that!”

Pearl very much wants to say that she’ll always stick with Marina, if she’ll have her, but her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth and her teeth feel like they’ve been rattled loose. She swallows once, forcefully, and nods.

“Y-you got it,” she manages, and almost collapses as Marina releases her. Luckily, Marina grabs her again, this time by the arms, and holds her steady. “You didn’t have to save me though,” Pearl continues, because she has an image to uphold. “Grizz is a pretty good babysitter. Almost everyone respawns.”

Marina laughs, and it sounds a little hysterical to Pearl. “I can’t stand to see you splatted. I hate it.” Her voice is so gentle, so tender, something Pearl isn’t accustomed to hearing, and Marina rubs her thumb just there, on Pearl’s arm, exciting little goosebumps.

Pearl’s head is still spinning so that doesn’t make sense to her. “Wha—”

Maybe it’s the nerves. Maybe it’s the panic. Maybe it’s the relief. But, Marina pulls Pearl close again. Everything slows down, right there. Their teammates in their squid partying become muffled background noise and all Pearl can hear is her own heartbeats, her own breathing. Because suddenly, all she can see is Marina, and her face, getting closer and closer.

Until, their lips are touching. Marina’s arms pull Pearl impossibly closer, as if trying to meld their bodies together, and Pearl swears she can feel Marina’s hearts, hammering against her own chest. Marina’s hair is wriggling around them, and Pearl feels one of Marina’s hands come up to cup her jaw.

The world is nothing but Marina, and Pearl nearly falls down again as her knees give in. The shock of the last few minutes is too much for her but that’s okay. She uses her weak knees as an excuse to surge forward and press her lips harder into Marina’s and is delighted when Marina squeaks and then hums against her lips.

When they eventually pull apart, the world has calmed down. Their teammates aren’t looking at them, respectfully, and all of the salmonids are gone. Everything seems clearer. Pearl can feel every single pore on her face as she smiles.

Then, she realizes what they’ve done and that smile falters. The cameras whirr above them, trained on their heads.

“Shit,” Marina mumbles. Pearl can’t help but share the sentiment.


	2. How We Got Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bunch of flashback because that’s how I do things. We get back to the present action right at the end (hence the tense change), but otherwise we’re just having a look into the past.

Here’s how Pearl realized:

**1.**

Marina had (has) a terrible habit of pushing herself far too hard at night, often burning the midnight oil well until she made herself sick with exhaustion. Usually, it only happened when she was writing, but sometimes it was just because she could, or because she wanted to. Something about having control of her own life now, which, at the time, made no sense to Pearl, but now that she knows where Marina came from, she understands. A little. For the most part, Pearl is someone who doesn’t pry, and she usually just let Marina go.

But, something happened one night. Marina was up late in her room, light on, when Pearl woke up with a splitting headache (possible hangover? Pearl wasn’t even sure what she _drank_ at Crusty Sean’s party, but _holy shit_ was it potent). She stumbled her way toward the light, head fuzzy with the low beat of a tympany, reverberating, reverberating, reverberating off her skull and down her spine. She remembers thinking that she was too young to know what it felt like to be old, but then she heard something thump in Marina’s room, rattling the door. Marina threw something, her mind supplied a few seconds late, but Pearl was already turning the knob, oblivious to her own safety.

What she found: Marina in her pajamas (a pair of shorts, tied tight with a drawstring, a tank top, one strap falling off her shoulder, sitting cross-legged on her bed with her computer and some sheet music in front of her. Pearl always begged the sheet music off her, mostly because Pearl thought it was kind of pointless, but Marina liked it. She said it was tangible, and she liked to feel the music appear from her hand. Pearl thought that was a bit pretentious, but it was also so, _so_ Marina that she let it slide), a few empty chip bags scattered around like corpses, a pair of discarded headphones.

A dictionary sat innocently on the floor near the door, and Pearl put it together quickly. Language frustration, something to do with lyrics, or perhaps a rap. Pearl sighed and kicked the dictionary aside.

“I told you I would do the lyrics this time,” she said, slowly, not for Marina’s sake but for her own. Her head was still beating that drum, except now it was in crescendo.

Marina’s room was only lit by a single lamp, near the bed, and it cast a pink cast on everything with its slightly opaque shade. It made Marina’s hair look washed out, not quite the green Pearl was used to, and that was strange. It stirred something inside Pearl she didn’t recognize as she watched Marina push one tentacle behind her ear.

“I know you did,” Marina answered, soft, gentle, without the sharp edges of day. She was clearly exhausted, but still, she pushed herself. It would be something to be admired, if Pearl wasn’t so concerned.

And how strange that was. Usually, she trusted people to take care of themselves, especially Marina, had enough junk to deal with in her own life, but there she was, hand-wringing over Marina’s sleep habits.

Maybe it was the hangover.

“Then why are you doing it?” Pearl could feel how quiet her voice was. It was unfamiliar, because she usually had two modes: loud and silent. There was never an in-between. Yet, here she was, padding across the room, voice coming from a place in her throat that was so unused that she had to cough to clear a passage.

Marina shrugged and pulled her knees in to her chest to make room for Pearl to sit. “I have to get better sometime.”

Pearl nudged Marina with her shoulder. “I know, but you don’t have to do it alone, dummy.”

That made Marina smile. It was small, innocent, and Pearl felt something blossom in her stomach, something that opened up just slightly, something fluttery and gentle. In the moment, she blamed it on the hangover.

**2.**

Concerts became common, and often Pearl trusted Marina to hit her cues. But, this time, something happened. She watched Marina closely, from the sway of her hips to her hands on the turntables. The only time she didn’t watch Marina was when she was hitting her own cues, and then only barely. Pearl almost missed one entirely, had to dart across stage, grab the mic off the stand, and then slide on her knees to keep herself from falling off the edge. It was a pretty sick move in hindsight and it made the crowd go wild, but, as she spat her rap into the microphone, she saw Marina’s hands come down from her mouth, an involuntary fear reaction to Pearl’s bone-headedness.

She hated that, she realized, hated seeing Marina scared, hated being the cause of it. More so, she hated that she could have avoided it.

The next show, she found herself preoccupied again. She loved to watch Marina sing, loved the way she leaned into the long notes, the way she danced with her arms, the way her whole presence changed when she put her hands on the turntables and she scratched. Gone was the fluid, graceful singer, in her place was the jagged record scratches and the hype, the jumps, the fist pumps. Pearl found herself caught up in the sheer physicality of Marina, from the way her long legs looked as she leaned into the table to the way her over-large zipper flashed under the stage lights.

Pearl imagined grabbing that zipper and pulling Marina close, so close that their bodies were flush. She imagined looking up into Marina’s face, smiling like a fiend, and she imagined grabbing that perfect face and kissing her, right there on stage.

She couldn’t blame it on the hangover that time.

**3.**

Instead of confronting herself, Pearl blamed it on stage fever. The flashing lights, the pulsing crowd, the rush when everything went perfectly, Marina’s excited little prance to grab Pearl’s hand at the end of the last song, the heat of it all—the lights, the crowd, the rush, Marina.

Plus, it wasn’t surprising. Marina was attractive. She knew it. All of Inkopolis knew it. The only person who didn’t seem to know it was Marina, but she also played the oblivious, innocent, cute one well. Sometimes, even Pearl couldn’t tell what was act and what wasn’t.

So, Pearl wasn’t surprised that she was having stage daydreams of kissing Marina. But, she was in denial. She did try and succeed in blaming it on everything except her own feelings. It was the stage fever, it was because Marina was too damn hot, it was because Pearl was too weak, it was because Pearl was too dry; it had been too long since her last relationship and she was aching for something. But, most of all, it was because Marina was _safe_ , a safe, good friend, someone who Pearl couldn’t fuck up on because they _trusted_ each other. Of course, she was daydreaming about that. It was practically domestic, how much they relied on each other.

At the afterparty, Pearl found herself a cute twenty-something with long hair and hips like pears, and she almost took her home. Almost. The make-out was familiar but nothing to write home about, and as she was shakily keying in the code for the door, she realized that she didn’t want Marina to see her like this. And she didn’t want to see herself like this. So, she made up an excuse ( _something something my roommate is a light sleeper_ ), paid for the cab to take the girl home, and she trudged up to her room with something like a boulder sitting in her stomach.

Marina wasn’t even home.

**4.**

Marina made breakfast sometimes. Usually, it wasn’t at a reasonable breakfast time though; it was almost always around midnight, when they were both awake but avoiding each other. The midnight-one-two hours were reserved for alone time because they spent all day together, but sometimes Marina wanted company without the conversation attached to it. That was where midnight breakfast came in.

Pearl was drawn from her room by the smell of pancakes, because she was easy, and she easily poured the orange juice—super pulp for herself, no pulp for Marina, an argument that they had every week on grocery shopping day and she knew would eventually become a splatfest because that was just her luck. They met at their small table, and Pearl dug into the pancakes like a shark, only coming up for air to grab more off the pile. Marina was watching her, her green-tipped fingers clasped around her glass of juice like a prayer, and it was only then that Pearl realized she wasn’t eating.

She considered it. Talking would be tantamount to a cardinal sin because they had one rule at midnight breakfast: silence. But, clearly Marina wanted something.

Pearl was about to ask, about to break the rule, but Marina merely smiled at her and reached across the table. She grabbed Pearl’s clammy hand in her larger, warm one, and squeezed.

“This is nice,” was all she said, and she leaned back in her chair, at ease, and sipped her orange juice.

The blossoming thing bloomed then, releasing a flutter of unstoppable birds. Pearl nearly swallowed her own tongue because Marina was _so beautiful_ , _so thoughtful, so perfect—_

And Pearl was way in over her head.

**5.**

In the end, she came to terms with it. She didn’t want to put the word to it, but she definitely felt some kind of way about her best friend, her partner, her... her _Marina_. She was fluttery, and blossomy, and flustered, and shaky, and all kinds of cliched adjectives. She found herself writing lyrics like _I’ll super jump right into your heart_. She found herself _flirting_ and meaning it. She found Marina flirting back, and she laid awake at night, panicked, trying to figure out if it was real or not.

Her father had always taught her to go after everything she wanted, and she always took that advice to heart. But, with this, where her _heart_ , her _partnership_ , her _future_ was at risk, she hesitated, waffled, spun her wheels in place because things were _great_ now. Things were going perfectly. They had a following; they were selling albums; they were doing the news; they were getting along; they were _living_. Marina was finally making enough money to support herself and Pearl didn’t need her allowance anymore (even though she still took it). Things were great!

Except this one thing.

This one breathtaking, terrible, amazing thing. Pearl started noticing small things, like the way Marina flipped her headphones on to her head, or the way Marina clumsily used chopsticks, or how Marina avoided touching people for the most part (except Pearl, never Pearl), or how Marina wrapped her arms around her exposed stomach when she was uncomfortable. Pearl could write an _Encyclopedia Marina_ with all the shit she noticed, and that just complicated things. She wanted to get to know Marina more, but she didn’t want to fall into the trap. She wanted to stay professional.

And, she was scared. But she only admitted that to herself, late at night when she was deep under the covers. Only then did she allow herself to be scared—of rejection, of screwing everything up, of losing Marina.

+++

Here’s what Pearl didn’t see:

**1.**

Marina moved into Pearl’s apartment because she didn’t have any money, seeing as she came right from Octo Valley after that fateful concert. Pearl put her up immediately, and she never had to pay half the rent because Pearl’s father insisted that _any friend of Pearl’s is a friend of mine_ —doubly so once they hit it big. Then, it was _anyone who helps Pearl achieve her dream is family_ , so Marina was never panicked for money. That made her grateful, but it also made her aware of things, things that she probably wouldn’t have seen otherwise.

Pearl was lonely, Marina realized almost as soon as she walked in to the apartment the first time. It was large and stuffed with things that were meant to take up space: over-stuffed couches, large screen TVs, a dining table fit for twelve, vase after vase of flowers. “From my admirers,” Pearl bragged as she brushed a hand over a lily’s petal.

Pearl was a princess, that much was clear, and their lives couldn’t be more different. Marina wanted the smaller room because she didn’t like big, yawning spaces, wasn’t used to hearing her own voice echo back at her, and Pearl wanted a room big enough for a king-sized bed. There was a bubble of emptiness that surrounded Pearl, and Marina decided that she was going to fill it.

It was only after their first year of living together, slamming out demo after demo, trying to find an agent, that Marina realized something had shifted. Pearl was more open, less snooty, positive. She was still a princess, yes, and Marina still had to do most of the cooking, but Pearl didn’t turn her nose up at everything. Gone were the vases of flowers, along with the dining table, replaced instead with knick-knacks from their travels: a Manta Maria replica, a skateboard purchased near Blackbelly, even a Grizzco gashapon from Pearl’s first super bonus. In the place of the dining table they now have a small table with four chairs, and plants. Marina loved viper bowstring hemp because it filtered the air, and Pearl put up with it because Marina loved it.

Now, the apartment was cozy, a mix of both Marina and Pearl, and Pearl was different. Marina was sure that she was different too; she didn’t jump at the loud booms of the splatfest fireworks anymore, and nightmares were a rare occurrence. Most of all, she was glad she never had to touch an Octoshot again, and Pearl never pushed her to turf war if she didn’t want to. It was a nice life, one that Marina was content in, and she didn’t want anything to change.

**2.**

The first time it hit her, they were in an interview. “Ebb & Flow” had been picked up as a turf war song and they were finally making a name for themselves. The interview was something along the lines of “Meet Off the Hook!”, hosted by the Squid Sisters.

Callie clearly didn’t want to ask it, but the question was on the prompter and it refused to budge. So, she gritted her teeth into a wide, pained smile and said, “So, give us the deets. You two dating or what?”

Which made Pearl panic. Marina knew it when she saw it. She made herself bigger, threw her arms out, and said the first thing that came to mind: “Marina wishes! I’m the biggest catch in Inkopolis!”

Pearl’s joke helped Callie and Marie relax, and they asked the next question quickly, didn’t dwell on it, but Marina’s eyes were wide as the saucers in Octo Valley and she couldn’t control them. She looked down at her knees, fists balled on top of her legs, and could only think _oh no_ —

Because it was right there, clear as day. Everything had been moving so fast, changing, adjusting, that she’d missed it, but, _damn,_ she was obvious. She had a huge, _huge_ crush on Pearl.

That... that didn’t bode well.

**3.**

Marina wasn’t one to dwell on things. Growing up in a military establishment had taught her that it was better to live in the moment, but this was scarier than all that. She had a crush on _her best friend_ , her _roommate_ , her _partner_ , her... Well, Pearl had saved her, hadn’t she? Sure, the Calamari Inkantation had set her free, but if Pearl hadn’t found her, she wouldn’t have made it this far. She might have ended up in some alley somewhere, struggling to feed herself...

She tried to avoid Pearl for a while, but that didn’t work out too well. Pearl was really good at getting into places where she didn’t belong, doubly so when she could sense that something was wrong. Marina locked herself in her room and Pearl always found a way to get her to open the door, whether through offerings of food or just but sitting in the hall with her back against the jamb, jabbering away about her day. Then, when they got the news job, they spent all their time together and Marina’s whole plan went to shit.

She found herself falling faster and faster. Pearl’s soft moments were few and far between, but they did something to Marina that made her insides melt together. Once, late at night, Marina was on the couch, watching an old human movie, something with lots of guns and explosions, and she found herself tight, ramrod straight, reliving memories that she’d rather keep locked away. Pearl appeared, didn’t say a word, just turned the TV off and pulled Marina into her room. Her king bed had more than enough room for both of them, but Pearl held her close until the tremors stopped and Marina fell asleep. The next morning, Pearl had breakfast ready when Marina emerged, sheepish. They never talked about it, but the invitation was there, silent, _if you need me, I’m there_.

But, more than anything, Marina loved their dynamic. Their bickering revealed something that only they knew: how well they knew each other, how they danced around each other and their soft spots, only squabbling about things that didn’t matter. And the indulgent moments, the times she called Pearl ‘Pearlie’ on live TV, the times Pearl revealed small things about their lives together, those were moments when Marina could almost believe that Pearl liked her back.

She tried to be obvious. She grabbed Pearl’s hand in quiet moments, rubbed her thumb along the back of Pearl’s hand, stood close, watched Pearl closely during concerts and interviews. But Pearl never picked up on it. It was almost as if she was ignoring it, actively working to dissuade Marina from her feelings, but Marina liked to believe that Pearl was just oblivious. It was easier that way, and it kept the fire going, kept Marina moving.

**4.**

After they got Agent 8 situated in the same apartment as Agent 4, Pearl and Marina began the ballet anew. Now there was new information, new questions, new sparks. Marina was very aware of how her hair moved, of how Pearl watched her, of how her hands easily worked the blender, the juicer, the machines of the house that Pearl never could quite get a feel for.

“An Octoling, huh,” Pearl said as Marina made midnight breakfast. She broke the one and only rule immediately and it made Marina stiffen. Things were different now, including the rules. She didn’t know what to do.

“That’s cool,” Pearl continued. She carefully took the juicer from Marina’s hands, avoiding touching skin to skin. “I’ll do it.”

Marina let her. “I’m surprised you didn’t realize on your own.”

Pearl shrugged as she strained some of the juice for Marina. She dumped the leftover pulp into her own cup. “That’s what they say about me. If it was a snake, it would’ve bit me.”

It was about something completely different, but Marina couldn’t help but feel her heart speed up. There was still hope for her crush, if they could get past this huge secret. “I think you just notice more small things.”

Pearl sent her a hard, scared look, as if Marina had discovered some deep secret about her. “I mean,” Marina quickly cut across, “that you’re more detail-oriented. The big stuff slips through because you’re too caught up in the small stuff.”

Pearl relaxed and held the glass out. “Maybe. But, you’re my best friend. Nothing will change that.”

Marina didn’t know what to say, so she merely swallowed hard and nodded. She accepted the glass of juice, carefully laying her hand over Pearl’s. They looked at their joined hands together, and hung there a moment, hearts pounding. “And you’re mine,” Marina said, fingers tightening.

**5.**

There were moments that defined Octoling life. Graduation from Slimeskin Garrison, acceptance into a unit, designing a new weapon, but love wasn’t one of them. Marina wouldn’t say love was _discouraged_ , but it wasn’t valued. Paring up was the norm in the civilian sector, but usually only when parents were needed. She hadn’t really experienced it before, but she had spent enough time in Inkling society to know what it was.

Knowing what to do was another thing entirely. She didn’t want to screw it up, mostly because she didn’t know if she would survive the fallout. But, she also only knew a few things completely: music, the news, and battle.

Battle was something she understood intimately. So, when they found themselves facing down a hoard of Salmonids, she did what she did best: she fought, she won, and she let herself get swept up in the battle nerves, the relief.

She kissed Pearl. Pearl kissed her back. That much she was sure of. She felt every cell in her body gasp for air as they finally met each other fully, and the relief when Pearl pushed back against her, desperate, deepening the kiss, was so palatable that Marina sighed.

It was unlike anything she could ever hope to imagine. It felt like she was being lit from the inside, like her body was filled with helium, like she could float away; it felt like inevitability, like gravity, and they landed together, in a heap.

What she wasn’t expecting: the cameras, and Pearl, winding back and lobbing her Splattershot Jr. right at one them. It makes contact, sends up sparks, sends it to the ground. The other camera is gone seconds later, this time from a well-aimed bomb. It doesn’t explode the camera, just knocks it out of the air.

Pearl is grinning like a maniac, caught up in the battle fever too, or maybe the euphoria of the kiss, and she pushes the Octobrush out of Marina’s hand so she can drag Marina close again. “Finally,” she hisses as she grabs the straps of Marina’s overalls and drags her down again.

Everything goes up in volutes of thought, and Marina forgets that she’s covered in ink. She forgets that they’ll have Mr. Grizz to contend with once they get back to the boat. She forgets about their teammates, the poor little things. Everything finally, _finally_ becomes Pearl.  


	3. Gulf Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the bit of wait. Been busy running a Salmon Run Tips blog, being gay with my gf, and moderating a Salmon Run Discord. But, I'm back now!

The boat is quiet, and that’s worrying. Pearl and Marina sit with feet between them, with backs against the side. Dualies and Brella are huddled together near the front, and there’s a tension that’s strung tight between them, all four of them. The reality of what’s happened is finally sinking in, and Pearl wishes she could read Marina’s mind because Marina is being so, so quiet; she refuses to look at Pearl, and they haven’t touched since they separated from their unfortunately timed kiss. Pearl realizes now that that was probably a bad idea, all things considered—a very desperate (though not very hot and heavy, if you ask her) and sudden kiss in full view of a bunch of cameras—but she’s also not one for thought, especially when it comes to... _romance_.

(And wasn’t that romantic? Covered in ink, both their own and the enemy’s, breathing labored, Marina with that crazed, battle-look in her eyes. It certainly was _hot_ , but not exactly romantic. Definitely not one of the dozens of ways that Pearl imagined it would happen, late at night when she was lying in bed. No sirree, those were safe, coffee shop affairs, or perhaps stage fever that resulted in a deep dip, Marina’s body cradled by Pearl’s arms. Not... during _Salmon Run._ )

Marina has one of the cameras that Pearl beaned in her lap and she’s got it cracked open. It looks fine to Pearl, but Marina keeps tutting as she digs around in the wires, searching for the short in order to fix it. She mutters about “unnecessary property damage” every now and then, and it’s pointed, so pointed that Pearl feels defensive. She wants to say that it shouldn’t be surprising, considering how much she used to break in her punk days and still breaks now (accidentally), but she’s also still reeling from the kiss so she just keeps her mouth shut.

There’s no sign of Grizz in their earpieces, so Pearl halfheartedly hopes that maybe the photos are stored locally in a memory card or something, not beamed back to whatever cave Mr. Grizz lives in. That’ll make the next few weeks a lot easier—she doesn’t want to have to bribe Grizz to keep the photos a secret, but she’ll do it if she has to. If Marina wants her to. She imagines that this whole thing won’t reflect on them... in a desired way.

But then, she doesn’t care, she realizes as she watches Marina let out a small _aha!_ as she finds what she’s looking for. She dips those long fingers deep into the body of the camera and Pearl watches her dig around, feeling a bit uncomfortable. She forces herself to look away.

“There,” Marina says, and she screws the back into place with a screwdriver. Pearl is beginning to think that she takes that thing with her everywhere. “Good as new.”

“Any memory card?” Pearl asks, a little petulant.

Marina holds her hand up, and Pearl is happy to see a small black card caught between two of her fingers. “Whoops,” Marina sing-songs as she flicks her wrist, sending the card over her shoulder, over the side of the boat, and into the water.

“Yo, awesome!” Pearl hisses, and her impulsiveness gets the better of her as she jumps up to lay a kiss on Marina’s cheek. Marina, used to this thoughtlessness, quickly cuts her off, pushes her back before her lips can land, and she puts a finger against Pearl’s lips.

“Ssh,” Marina commands, and Pearl pouts her lips out against the finger.

Marina replaces the first camera with the second. Her deft fingers get to work quickly, and as Pearl watches her, she says: “You know that we’re gonna have to do this again, right?”

Pearl is a little too love struck by just how beautiful Marina’s hair is as she leans over the camera, so all she can think to say is, “Huh?”

Marina tuts under her breath and reaches further into the camera, going deep into the wires. “We’re getting rid of the evidence. That includes all the pictures.”

“Tch, whatevs.” Pearl waves a hand. “Like Grizz needs us to advertise. He has so many freelancers he doesn’t know what to do with them.”

Marina doesn’t answer, but Pearl sees her free hand tighten a little around the camera’s spherical body. “We agreed—”

Pearl sighs and puts a hand on Marina’s knee. “And your word is your vow. Yeah, I got it. You’re so stuffy sometimes, you know that? Is it a Marina thing or a...” Pearl glances around to make sure they’re not being listened to. “Y’know, an _octoling_ thing?”

Marina finally looks up from the camera and she lets her head fall back against the side of the boat. “You read my file. You don’t get as high as I did without being reliable.”

“And here I thought it was your good looks. And your huge brain,” Pearl adds when she sees Marina roll her eyes.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Marina declares, and she dips back into the camera. It’s fixed in no time, and Pearl lets the silence sit, mostly because she can’t think of a possible answer to that.

+

They bid Dualies and Brella farewell at the bonus window. Both young inklings agree to keep what they saw a secret, which makes Marina look so relieved that it brings Pearl pause. She hadn’t spared the whole thing much thought after deciding to bribe Mr. Grizz if she needs to, but that would explain Marina’s silence on the boat.

Pearl can’t pretend to completely understand Marina, and that hurts. A lot. Sure, she knows how Marina ticks most of the time, but she also doesn’t understand a lot of her past, a lot of the stuff that put her together and could pull her apart. Pearl is an open book, a simple story: a rich girl from an affluent family, spoiled to the core, but with a heart of gold and a penchant for rebellion. There’s not much mystery to her, other than one small stint with heterosexuality that she doesn’t ever want to talk about, but Marina? Marina is smoke; Marina is a tight, strained smile; Marina is a past that is full to the brim of dark things that she’ll never talk about. No matter how much Pearl dares pry, Marina will never talk about certain things, so Pearl will never know her completely.

And, for the most part, she’s okay with that. She may have grown up sheltered, but she also knows that there are some things you can’t know, some things you can’t push people on. Because, people will bend until they break, but some things cause stress fractures that spread. This is one of Marina’s fracture points.

That makes it so much harder though. They walk toward the studio, where a car is waiting to pick them up, and Pearl wants to grab Marina’s hand. She’s been waiting _so long_ to do it, and now she practically has permission, but she’s also painfully aware of that relieved look, that _you wouldn’t understand_ , the countless times Marina has pressed her headphones tighter to her head to hide her ears, and she realizes just how much attention that would get them. Already, people are noticing them, rushing forward to ask for pictures, and Marina is slowly pulling her face into the public one she uses everywhere.

Pearl keeps her hands to herself, grimaces in the pictures, and tries to ignore the giant hole that she feels between herself and Marina.

+

They need to talk. But, when they eventually get back to the apartment, Marina squirrels herself into her room. She spares a few seconds to say, “I need to think,” and stoops down to press a kiss to Pearl’s head. It’s chaste, like a mother to a child, and Pearl is stricken immediately. Does Marina already regret it? Did Pearl already screw it up? Is the gulf of their pasts too much? Marina’s face reveals nothing as Pearl forces herself not to say anything, to smile a strained smile, and she disappears behind her door.

Pearl plays a violent video game in the living room with the television turned all the way up. She punches and kicks, throws the controller when she dies, hugs a pillow close when she feels tears hot behind her eyes. She’s not sure exactly what to do, but she feels like she needs to do _something_. She knows that letting Marina think is good, but she also knows that thinking too long is bad; thinking too long leads to second thoughts, second guessing, and she doesn’t want Marina to back out of something they both clearly want.

Pearl wants to do this right. Marina feels like forever, and Pearl doesn’t want to screw that up. Marina _is_ forever—she’s symbolic of a future that Pearl never had before, from their shared music career to their shared home, but more than that, she’s Pearl’s best friend and Pearl can’t lose that. In a life full of excess, she’s become used to having everything, and the idea of losing something so precious makes her sick to her stomach.

She hides her face in her knees. On screen, her character does its idle animation, begging input.

+

In the end, she tells herself that she didn’t cry, and she gets up. Her over-large sweatshirt hits her knees as she walks, and she quickly draws a beeline to Marina’s bedroom door so that she can’t second guess herself. She doesn’t go in, doesn’t knock, just listens. There’s some soft lo-fi music playing and Pearl imagines Marina leaning back against her pillows, headphones off, eyes closed, thinking. Or asleep. She never considered that Marina could have simply fallen asleep after such a long, emotional day, but she still has to try. She can’t just let this sit, not with them so close to the precipice, dangling over what could be the happiest moments of their lives. For once, she’s not the one being talked away from the edge.

She sinks to the floor beside the door, like she’s done so many times before. She lets her head loll back, exhausted both because it’s almost midnight and because of the day they had, closes her eyes like she imagines Marina has, and she lets the words fall out.

She’s always been a jabber mouth, but today it’s something else. She says it all, how unsure she’s been, how she’s been so scared, how much Marina means to her. Gone is the yelling, the limb flailing, the Pearl who has to bigger than life. In her place is a quieter, unfamiliar Pearl, one who is small and vulnerable and has no airs to put on. She says things like “I know you’ve been through hell, but I want to make sure that never happens again,” and “I love... having you here. You’ve... changed everything.”

Marina might be asleep. She might not hear any of this, but it feels good to get it out, to breathe it into the world so that Pearl doesn’t have it all inside her anymore, turning everything into mush. Finally, she can begin to harden again, in case everything goes horribly come morning. She has to build herself up from the inside out, in case this was all one big mistake, in case the battle-hardened warrior that she calls a roommate isn’t ready for all of this. In case the kiss was one giant, glaring misstep in their otherwise brilliant partnership.

Before she departs, she stands, staring at the door, and says, “I don’t want to give up on this, but if you want me to, I will.” It’s a small emission, but she wants to give Marina an out; the last thing she wants is Marina to feel pressured into anything.

There’s no reply. Pearl sighs and sinks into her room. Her bed is big, too big she realizes, but she climbs in, lying with her head on the edge of her pillow. The darkness has no substance to it as she stares out, like there’s too much vastness there, like the space between galaxies, the giant spaces of nothing that she imagines the humans once touched. She thinks about them a lot—the humans and their reaching, reaching arms, how much they destroyed to get what they wanted.

She hopes, desperately, that she doesn’t follow in their footsteps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I so wanted my girlfriend to read this and say something about the subtext being too strong, but all she could do was offer Pearl her sympathies so I just left it heavy-handed. Whoops. 
> 
> Hopefully there won't be as much wait for next chapter, but we'll see! Catch up with me and my progress over on tumblr: http://theashemarie.tumblr.com/ (or check out the Salmon Run Tips blog that I run with my gf: https://salmonruntips.tumblr.com/). Okay, gratuitous plugs over. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and left kudos! You guys are what keep me writing, and your comments have really made my life a lot brighter.


	4. Morning Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I feel like this needs to be said: there will be NO SMUT in this story. If you wanna read the sexytimes you gotta go somewhere else. I'm not comfortable writing it, sorry.) (And just to date myself, I almost typed "there will be NO LEMONS." I am the fandom grandma.)

When Marina leaves her room at eight in the morning, right on the dot, the first sense that activates is smell. It’s the most primal, and it alerts her to the smell of bacon fat, to eggs, to pancakes. Her feet start up next, piloting her body toward the kitchen before she can remember that she’s supposed to be stealthy, stealing into the fridge for an easy, light breakfast before alighting back into her room. She isn’t sure if she’s ready to see Pearl yet, mostly because she’s ashamed. Ashamed of her behavior yesterday, ashamed of her choices, of her fear.

There’s a lot that she should be ashamed of, considering her life, but this feels like the most acute: her actions were rash and her fear was something to be apologized for. But, she also isn’t sure what she wants, what she needs, what she’s going to say to Pearl. And that’s— That’s scarier than anything. She’s never felt this unsure about anything. Even when she left behind the world she knew for Inkopolis, she had some sort of confidence, a powerful drive to _do_ , to _get out_ , and she knew she would be okay eventually. But this?

This is something else. This is—

“Marina?” She comes to a stop just outside the kitchen. There’s Pearl, actually making breakfast. She has a spatula in her hand and everything.

Marina can’t help but stare, not because of the spatula, or the apron with the words _kiss the cook_ splattered across it, or even the fact that the smoke alarm is sitting on the counter without its battery, but because this is _Pearl_ , Princess Pearl, _cooking_ , right here, in their kitchen.

Oh... Oh no. This is bad. Pearl is... Pearl is domesticating before her very eyes.

Pearl mistakes her staring for interest, or else she’s just trying to compensate for her own uncertainty with humor, but she says, “You like it?” and gestures at the apron. It’s pristine, still has creases from the packaging it came in, and Marina is absolutely sure that it’s not actually made for cooking. “I had it overnighted,” Pearl continues, before whipping back around and attempting to flip a pancake. It splatters, splits, and Pearl hisses at it to _get its fucking act together you’re embarrassing me_. Marina can’t help but smile.

There’s no getting out now, so she moves forward and takes the spatula from Pearl’s hand. “Like this.” She pushes the spatula under the pancake and flips it effortlessly, stomach gurgling as soon as the tell-tale sizzle begins anew. Pearl elbows her lightly.

“Hungry, huh? Did you sleep any?”

She didn’t, but she can’t admit that. “A little,” she says instead, avoiding Pearl’s eyes. Marina offers Pearl the spatula. “You try.”

Pearl takes it without a hint of fear, ever the little fighter, and makes to stab it under the next pancake. Marina lets out a small noise and jerks to stop her. “Be gentle,” she says as she wraps her long fingers around Pearl’s shorter ones. She guides the spatula toward the pancake, repeating the process from earlier and trying to show Pearl how easy it can be. “You gotta ease under, and then you... flip!”

Pearl doesn’t say anything as the pancake begins to sizzle, and Marina realizes that she’s staring at their hands, at Marina’s green-tipped, dark fingers clutched tight around her own. Marina extracts herself and steps away, prim, adjusts her tank top. “Excuse me,” she says, mind suddenly missing all the Inkling words she needs. It’s all a different language up there, one that she misses dearly. She’s so smart in Octarian, but she feels so stupid in Pearl’s language. She can’t express her feelings like this, and she doesn’t want to screw it up, so she simply turns to the fridge.

Pearl stays blessedly silent, and Marina can’t help but remember last night, the muttered “ _I don’t want to give up on this_ ,” followed by “ _but if you want me to, I will._ ” She’s sticking to that, letting Marina make the first move, and Marina appreciates that, but, more than anything, she wants someone else to take charge for once. She’s done so much of that, from setting out on her own to becoming a musician; she wants someone else to grab her hand and guide her.

She grabs the orange juice, realizes that it’s all pulpy, and sighs to herself.

+

Here’s the thing that Marina can’t say:

Love is something she’s unfamiliar with, and she’s so so _so_ terrified of screwing it up. Where she’s from, it’s not unheard of, but it’s also not advertised. She has no idea how to go about it, has no idea what it should feel like, has no idea what is expected of her. Most of all, she doesn’t want to lose Pearl—Pearl with her wicked grins, her loud, explosive voice, her large gestures and flinging arms. Pearl is so much more than Marina’s ever seen, ever experienced, and she can’t jeopardize that with her ignorance.

Life underground was all nuance. It was structure and small barracks. It was living for the next meal, let alone the next day, and it was tenuous, light friendships. Every now and then she heard about fraternization between Octoling fighters, but those were all whispers, the soft sound of a door closing at night, glances in the wrong direction, hands brushing just there under the table. She was, perhaps, too young to really understand it, considering how fast she was promoted, too hypnotized by her world, her life, her superiors, but she sees now the innuendo, the taboo, the hiding in plain sight.

These things happened, she’d heard, people get compromised. They die for each other, not as comrades but as something more. It was dangerous, they taught her, and useless outside of the civilian sector. She imagined that, living in one of the beachy areas, raising a child, having a partner. But, she never considered what it would feel like, how gripping in its totality it would be. She never considered what it would feel like, to want to lay your life down for someone.

And in trotted Pearl. Pearl with her complete and total devotion to whatever interested her in the moment. And Marina was that thing: “The best thing that ever happened to me,” Pearl said on more than one occasion, in more than one interview. Marina always thought she meant their music, and how Marina helped her achieve her dream, but now...

She’s... overwhelmed, terrified, panicked. She wants this more than anything, but she doesn’t know how to explain to Pearl her hang-ups without going through her whole unwritten history. And she’s scared that if she does that, Pearl will never see her the same way—she helped create the Flooders, which eventually lead to a deal with the Salmonids and the creation of the Grillers, both of which render Inklings to small splats of ink. Not to mention all of the training, in hand-to-hand, with different weapons, to _kill_. Pearl might see her as a monster.

It’s not that she’s keeping her life a secret. It’s just that she hates revisiting those things. There are some things that no one should have to remember, and her training is one of them. It’s the reason she still hates it when Pearl yells into microphone without warning, why she hates the feeling of enemy ink on her skin, why she’d much rather stay on stage the whole Splatfest instead of defending her team.

But, mostly, she’s unsure about how to go about it. If they go for this, _this relationship_ , she doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know what’s expected of her. And that’s... It’s frustrating. And, she imagines that it’ll be just as frustrating for Pearl. Pearl is experienced, knows exactly the steps and the rules, but Marina is still new to all of this, is still getting used to the idea. Sure, she accepted her crush with a simple sort of quiet zen, but that was because it was hers and hers alone. She had time to figure it out. But now, things are suddenly _theirs_ , from the kiss to the aftermath to this breakfast. She has to share it, and, after a life of watching out for and checking in with only herself, she isn’t sure how to go about that.

And, if things go _public_? If they’re suddenly thrust into the limelight not because of their music but because of their personal lives? Marina knows that she’ll say something wrong, upset a bunch of people, perhaps even reveal herself as an Octoling. Then things will never be the same. An Inkling and Octoling— _together_?

It’s better... It’s better if they just. If they just leave things as they are. It’s safer, things are good, and, most importantly, they’re perfectly synched with no strife or stress. This whole love thing will only lead to trouble.

But then—why does she so desperately want it, even when every cell of her mind is telling her that it’s a bad idea?

+

Breakfast is quiet, quiet enough that Marina can hear Pearl chewing. It’s so strange, because Pearl is usually clamoring to talk, usually about nothing important but just to fill the space. Now, there’s nothing between them except food, which wouldn’t be a bad thing except each breath is charged. Pearl’s leg is bouncing under the table, Marina can feel it, and Marina knows that her own unnatural stillness is off-putting, but she can’t help it.

They’re both mortified at the idea of talking first, but they _need_ to talk. Marina isn’t sure what she wants or what she’ll say, and Pearl is leaving it up to her. Marina will have to speak first, but what can she say? How can she possibly put into words her fears? Her hesitation?

Well, first, she supposes, she needs to apologize.

“Pearl,” she sighs as she puts her fork down beside her plate, like all the etiquette books have taught her. “I’m sorry.”

Pearl immediately looks terrified. Her fork drops onto her plate with a loud clatter, she pushes her long sleeves up her arms as if preparing for battle, and her face is paler than it’s ever been. Marina swears she sees the blood drain down her neck, past the neckline of her oversized sweatshirt. “S-sorry?” she manages to stutter out, and it’s quite possibly the first time Marina has ever heard her so unsure. “What are you—? If this is about the kiss—”

“It’s not.” Marina looks down at her plate and pushes a tentacle behind her ear, a small moment of trust. Pearl is the only one allowed to see her ears, and Pearl’s leg’s bouncing speeds up considerably. “I’m not sorry about that,” Marina continues. “I’m sorry for... everything else.”

A long beat of silence. Other than the jostling of the table, there’s no sign that Pearl is there. Marina looks up, just to make sure, and Pearl pins her with a hard, critical look. “Marina, I’ve got no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

Marina refuses the groan that bubbles up, swallows it down. “For everything,” she says quickly, throwing her arms out to encompass the size of _everything_ —Pearl, the table, their apartment, the morning breakfast (and oh how she wishes this was midnight breakfast because at least then the talking wouldn’t be excepted), the world outside. “For... Ugh. I can’t—”

The small admission, the hesitation, is enough for Pearl to realize. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain it. I get it.”

“No, you don’t.” Marina pulls her knees into her chest, miserable at her inability to communicate. “I need to explain. I just— I don’t— I’m scared. Of what could happen.”

Pearl doesn’t talk for a long time. Marina doesn’t either, just watches Pearl as Pearl watches her. Pearl’s leg is still.

“So am I,” Pearl mutters. Her long sleeves have come down to cover her hands and Marina can almost imagine her as a small child, solid pink, still more squid than humanoid, dressed in that same sweatshirt. She’s so tiny, so vulnerable in that moment, and it hits Marina then, just how much Pearl trusts her. Not even her father gets to see her like this.

“Oh, Pearlie,” she sighs. “We’re in it deep, aren’t we?”

Pearl shrugs and refuses to look at her, almost like a pouting child. “Maybe.”

Marina picks her fork up and begins to poke at her food, unsure how to continue. There’s so much that needs to be said, but at least, in this, she can be sure: they’re both absolutely terrified of everything that could go wrong.

But they’ve also both fallen so far already.

“Marina...” Pearl’s voice is closer than she expects, and she looks up to see Pearl right there. She’s silent in her bare feet, not even the rustle of fabric to give her away, and Marina has a fantastical thought: a Pearl this capable of silence is something to be respected.

Pearl stands there, hands still hidden in her sleeves, worrying at the hem, crownless, almost like a royal come to beg for something from a peasant. Her eyes though, are alive with something that looks a lot like flame and determination. “Marina, I’m fucking _petrified._ I don’t want to lose you, or what we have. Hell, I don’t really give a shit what happens to my career! I can’t imagine my life without you. You— You’re my best goddamn friend. But... I know you felt that kiss. I know you—”

“I did,” Marina cuts in, quickly, just to make it completely sure. “I... It was...” She shakes her head, and merely peers up at Pearl with what she hopes is an encouraging expression. “I can’t think of the word—”

“Amazing, incredible, mind-blowing, earth shattering, explosive, wonderful, astonishing, dumbfounding, overwhelming—”

“Yes, thank you.” Marina can’t help the small smile that appears on her face. “Pick one of those, that’s what it was.”

Pearl grins too, and, ice broken, reaches out to grab Marina’s hand. She’s careful to keep her sleeve between them, as if skin-on-skin contact is too risqué. “I know you felt that kiss,” she repeats. “I think that just leaving it there would be...”

“Cruel,” Marina answers.

Pearl nods. “Yeah. It would be torture for both of us. Everything’s different now, even if we want to pretend that it’s not.”

Marina looks down at their hands. “It is...”

“It’s up to you,” Pearl says quickly. “I was listening yesterday, you know? You think I don’t, but I did. I know that this is new for you, but I’m patient. Hey, hey,” she cuts across when she sees Marina’s disbelieving smile, “for this, I can be patient. You’re worth it.”

Everything is moving so fast, but Marina _wants this_ ; she wants this more than she’s ever wanted anything. All of her reason is telling her to wait, slow down, please, just for a second, but Pearl is so magnetic, so understanding, so open, so... _thoughtful_. This is Marina’s best friend, her partner, after all, and she’s shown her no reason not to trust her. They’ve been an unstoppable team up until yesterday—who was she to fight the gravity that had formed between them?

She slowly worms her fingers under Pearl’s sleeve so that their palms are touching. Static electricity lights up her nerves like never before when she sees Pearl’s wide, relieved grin. “Is that a yes?” Pearl asks, almost at a whisper, throat clogged with what sounds like tears.

Marina squeezes her hand. “It’s a maybe. Maybe... let’s give it a try.”

Pearl wraps her fingers around Marina’s, tight, squeezes. “Okay.” She steps closer and Marina feels her heart speed up. “Can I... Can I kiss you?”

Marina tilts her head up, suddenly very dizzy (a good dizzy), and she can practically feel Pearl’s happiness. “Yes.”

And then, of course, Pearl’s phone rings. Pearl groans, detaches herself, and grabs it off the counter to check, muttering about business. They can't miss an important call, no matter how fraught their personal lives have become.

Her faces goes blank, unreadable. “It’s Mr. Grizz,” she says, and the phone trills again.

“How did he get your personal number?” Marina asks, stomach dropping open.

“I don’t know,” Pearl says, plain, monotone.

They look at each other. The phone rings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have fanart! Huge, huge thanks to Treker over on tumblr for surprising me and absolutely making my day with art inspired by the last chapter. Go give it a look and some well-deserved love! http://treker402.tumblr.com/post/176666554655/i-draw-this-fanart-for-amazing-fanfic-riding-out
> 
> I don't usually assign music to my writing, but this one song really struck me while I was writing, so I'll drop it here. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kjWHpTkH7pA
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left comments on last chapter! I didn't have time to respond, but just know that every single one of you made me smile and celebrate. And, most importantly, you gave me the strength to write faster. 
> 
> Can't say when the next chapter will be up because I'm starting graduate school again. Godspeed to all my other bookworms. We can do this. 
> 
> Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading and enjoying! The feedback I've gotten on this story has truly blown me away, and I hope to keep providing those good good Pearlina feels. See you next update!


	5. Meeting at New Albacore

When Pearl arrives at New Albacore Hotel at ten in the morning on the dot, she tells her driver to keep the car running. She saunters past the doormen, all of whom recognize her, and passes through the lobby to the elevator bank. The rooftop pool is always open to her because her father keeps a room on tab, and she steps back into the sun and squints. The pool deck is as busy as it usually is, despite the early hour, with young socialites that she’s never gotten along with nursing martinis and margaritas as they watch the jellies frolic in the water. A sign near the door declares that the deck will be closed to all inklings at noon sharp for a scheduled Tower Control tournament, and she tells herself that she’ll be out of here well before then.

She finds the table easily. Mr. Grizz always uses the same one for meetings—pressed into the back corner, near the stage, out of the sun and under an umbrella. She slides into her chair, drops her small backpack at her feet, and adjusts her tank top. She dressed haphazardly after the call, just some athletic shorts and a tank top—probably Marina’s judging by how big it is, but that doesn’t matter. At one point, she practically lived on this rooftop, back before she grew a fondness for black, piercings, and screaming. These days, she only comes here if she has to.

“Ms. Houzuki,” the radio says in Mr. Grizz’s voice. It’s sitting right on top of the glass table, with a full martini glass in front of it. There’s even an obvious smear of sunscreen across the bear’s nose. If she wasn’t so pissed she’d think it was funny. “Where’s Ms. Iida?”

“None of your business.” Pearl crosses her arms petulantly. Marina is safe at home, probably taking the blender apart and putting it back together again, as she does when she’s stressed. She wanted to come, but Pearl needed to handle this herself. She’s been trained for things like this.

Living in a super-rich family meant that threats were a common thing. Blackmailing was another one. She’s prepared to give Mr. Grizz as much money as he wants to keep this quiet. She has to, for Marina’s sake.

“Very well.” His voice is just as garbled as it’s always been. Distantly, she pictures him, bent over an old microphone in whatever cave he hides out in, hoarding his golden eggs like a dragon. Or a bear in winter. “Want a drink? My treat.”

“I don’t drink before noon.” She sniffs and gives his martini a mean glance. What a waste of an olive. “What the hell do you want?”

The radio crackles sharply as Mr. Grizz sighs on the other end. “I know you threw out the memory cards from my cameras, but you didn’t really think I don’t have a backup system, did you? Especially during a wave. You know how feisty the Salmonids get.”

Pearl figured as much, considering the early morning summons to Mr. Grizz’s favorite negotiation table. She remembers, a while ago, when she was still small and pudgy and pink, being brought to this very table when her father had a meeting with Mr. Grizz, back before Grizzco was a thing. Her father sent her off to play with some other children while he conducted business, and she remembers the radio, sitting innocently on the table. Some things never change.

She sits back in her chair and crosses one leg over the other. She’s not that small squid anymore. Now she’s grown, can change form and has a Killer Wail that can knock down buildings. Nothing this bear can say will shake her. “Worth a shot, right? Besides, Marina fixed the camera.”

“That you broke.”

Pearl shrugs. “My hand slipped.”

“ _Twice_.”

“Butter fingers.”

Grizz sighs again and Pearl watches as the radio skitters slightly from the force of the vibration. “You’re just as insufferable as your father. I have copies of the photos.”

She could ask him to prove it, but she knows that Grizz isn’t one to bluff like this, especially because her father has an army of lawyers that would eat him alive if he doesn’t have those pictures. “I know. I wasn’t born yesterday. I repeat: what the hell do you want?” She begins to reach for her bag, for her checkbook.

“I don’t need your money.” Mr. Grizz has the gall to sound smug, as if he can see her bent over. He might, she considers, what with this same table. Easy to set up cameras. A glance up and she sees it, nestled into the inside of the umbrella, lens pointed right at her.

Pearl doesn’t answer, just leans back again, arms crossed.

“I got your attention. Good. Listen carefully, because I’m only saying this once. Your father has something of mine that I need.”

Pearl scoffs and begins to bounce her foot. She’s never been good at sitting still, even if she wants to be intimidating. “Please. You think I’m gonna steal from my father? You’ve eaten one too many golden eggs, Grizz. No fucking way.”

“Is it stealing if you’re retrieving a file off his computer?”

“Uh, yeah. Duh.”

“And I already paid for it?”

Pearl’s foot stops bouncing, and she leans forward. “What’s this about Grizz?”

There’s a long pause. “I’m sure you’ve gone on a shift when one of my... _private_ weapons was in the rotation.”

She has. The Grizzco weapons are notorious, and she and Marina once hopped on a boat just to play around with them. They definitely didn’t need the money, that’s for sure. They were sick, monstrous weapons that chewed through Salmonids like they were made of bread and Pearl distinctly remembers cackling like a loon the first time the Grizzco blaster was dropped into her hands.

“Keep talking,” she says.

“I commissioned your father for a design for a shooter. Rapid fire, wide spread, better than an aerospray with the range of the splattershot. But he refuses to hand it over. I need you to retrieve it.”

Pearl considers that. If it’s true and Grizz paid for it, then her father is the one in the wrong here, and it wouldn’t be that hard for her to sneak onto his laptop and get it... Unless it’s on his private office computer of course. That’s a whole other beast—behind two locked doors and usually guarded at all times. Of course, this is a negotiation, so Pearl isn’t going to say any of this.

“And if I don’t? Just so we’re all the same page.” Her voice is hard, cold, and she feels her leg begin to bounce again.

“Those pictures hit the next news cycle. Also,” he continues when she slightly deflates—that wouldn’t be a total disaster, those pictures getting out; they have a PR team that can handle that backlash. “ _Also_ , I’ll tell everyone that Ms. Iida isn’t all that she seems.”

Pearl goes on high alert. She sits up straight in her seat, almost snapping herself in two with the strain. “ _What_? You don’t have proof.”

“Don’t I?” As Grizz says that, a small jellyfish moves toward them, carrying a silver tray. The jellyfish holds it up for Pearl and she sees a large envelope on it, which she takes timidly, as if it’s made of acid. Carefully, she peels it open and shakes the contents out: three pictures, one of Pearl and Marina making out, one of them grinning stupidly at each other, and another of Marina flying through the air to slash at some Salmonids with her octobrush, hair and hat flung back to showcase her small, rounded ears.

Carefully, Pearl straightens the pictures on the table, trying not to let the terror show on her face. This isn’t just about them. They can handle the rumors and the pictures of the kiss. Marina won’t like it, but they can handle it. But... _This_... This picture of Marina and her ears, their undeniable confirmation of her otherness, of her octoling reality, isn’t something Pearl can just _fix_. This is Marina’s identity, her _life_ , her safety and her future. Pearl can’t gamble with Marina like that.

And they just decided to give this relationship a try... Pearl doesn’t want to jeopardize that, but she has to think of Marina first. She has to keep _all_ of this from getting out.

“I need to talk to Marina, you motherfucker,” she says as she slips the pictures back into the envelope. “We’ll call you with an answer by the end of the day.”

Mr. Grizz chuckles, a low, dark sound. “I look forward to working with you. Hopefully we can get this cleared up quickly.”

“Oh, we will,” Pearl mutters as she stands. She flings her backpack over her shoulder and then very pointedly reaches up, unclips the camera, winds back, and throws it into the pool water. After it splashes and sinks to the bottom, she turns back to the radio. “Oops, slipped. And no Marina here to fix it. Oh well.”

She turns, leaves, ignores Grizz’s outraged squawking, and wonders how she’ll tell Marina all of this without losing her completely.

+

When Pearl gets home, she finds Marina on the floor in the living room. Pearl’s video game console is gutted, along with the television and the surround system, and is that the juicer? Pearl sighs and considers saying something about all this carnage, but she’s mostly just impressed. She was only gone an hour and Marina managed to take everything down to the studs, with all the parts resting in surgical order on clean towels. Clearly, there’s an intent to put everything together again.

Pearl winces when she thinks that, because there might be no putting this together. Not after she tells Marina about all that was said at the hotel.

“Hey Mar... I see you’re doing well.” Pearl lightly steps over a spread of what she assumes is Marina’s laptop. “Managing your stress.”

Marina peers up at Pearl over the top of her magnifying glasses. “I’m upgrading.”

Pearl seats herself on the edge of the couch. “Every single object with an electrical spark?”

Marina pulls her glasses off and sighs, exasperated. “Workmanship is shoddy. I stripped five screws. How do you people function?”

This is clearly about more than the screws, and Pearl knows that she’s panicked about her life being ripped out from under her somehow. Marina knows exactly what that phone call from Mr. Grizz meant, what the table at the hotel means, and she’s trying to take control in the only way she can—by taking everything apart and figuring out how it works.

“We manage,” Pearl answers, a bit belatedly.

Marina sighs again and grabs the casing for her laptop. It’s an empty husk, and, with great deliberation, she grabs a few pieces and begins to reassemble it with careful fingers. “What’d he want?” she asks as she focuses on her work, probably so she can distract herself if she needs to.

Pearl swallows heavily and places her hands on her knees, trying to keep her legs from jiggling. “He has the pictures.”

Marina stabs her screwdriver into place. “I figured. What’s he want?”

“Me to steal from my father.”

The screwdriver falls out of her hand. Marina looks up and pins Pearl with a hard, panicked look. “Steal from _your father_? Is he nuts?”

Pearl shrugs and curls her hand into a fist. “He claims that he paid for something and my dad isn’t giving it to him. It’s either that or he releases the pictures.”

Marina looks back at the computer in her lap, digs around in the wires at her side a little, considers a few pieces. “I’ve been thinking... It wouldn’t be that horrible... If it got out.”

If this was a few hours ago, Pearl would rejoice. She’d jump up and kiss Marina right there, because that’s exactly what she wants: to be able to show the world just how much she loves Marina, especially now that she knows that Marina feels the same way. But, this isn’t a few hours ago. This is now. And now is way more complicated.

“There’s more...” Pearl’s leg is bouncing now, despite the whole force of her hands trying to keep it from doing so. Marina looks up again, still in her pajamas from last night, with her hair pulled back into a bun on top of her head, and Pearl sees her future for a second—this, the two of them, together, early mornings, late nights, pajamas and street clothes, comfortable sharing close quarters, taking on any trouble that comes their way. They just have to get through this first.

Instead of explaining, Pearl digs into her backpack and holds the envelope out. Marina takes it and silently flips through the images, hesitating only slightly on the most incriminating one. Without a sound, she slides the photos back in and hands it back. “I see,” she intones, monotone, flat. “Keep talking or I’m going to freak.”

Pearl moves quickly. She drops off the couch and onto her knees right next to Marina, and grabs Marina’s hands. “This isn’t getting out. You hear me? I’m going to handle this. My dad has so many projects going on that he probably won’t miss one. Besides...” She grins a shark grin, all teeth and gums. “If it’s true that Mr. Grizz paid for it, then it’s not stealing so much as retrieving. I’m a regular Robin Hood.”

Marina looks down at their hands, at her own long fingers clasped so tight to Pearl’s that they’re bleached a few shades lighter. She takes a hard breath, probably to keep herself calm. Suddenly, Pearl is terribly, uncomfortably aware of the fact that Marina is probably used to stuff like this—calming herself in dire, dangerous situations, though those situations probably usually involved bullets and guns. She shakes her head to rid herself of that thought; it’s better if she just focuses on the present.

Marina squeezes Pearl’s hands once, a sharp sting of pressure that brings Pearl back into her own body. “What do we need to steal?”

Pearl snorts. “I’m doing it. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Marina lets go and places her hand on Pearl’s face. Her palm is warm and sweaty, but Pearl leans into it anyway. She’s been waiting so long for this casual touch. “No way, Pearl. We’re doing this together or not at all. This is _our_ problem.”

That makes Pearl’s hearts soar, but it also makes her stomach drop open. This isn’t just some normal everyday problem. This is blackmail. This is grand theft. This is... It’s dangerous.

But this is also Marina, Pearl reflects as she watches Marina watch her. This is her whole life, being dangled just out of reach, all agency taken from her. Her happiness and her safety are on the line here, and Pearl knows that she has to do whatever she can to protect that. Even if they hadn’t had that whole heart-to-heart this morning and they’d actually agreed to be just friends at the end, she would do this.

But, more than anything, she wants Marina to feel safe. She wants Marina to feel safe _with her_ , to know that Pearl can protect her if things get tough.

“Okay,” Pearl hears herself say. She leans forward and places a little chaste kiss on Marina’s forehead, to steady her nerves and because she’s been dying to. “Okay, so we’re doing this. We’re going to steal a weapon blueprint off my father’s computer.”

“Is that all?” Marina grins and removes her hand so she can wave it, flippant. Pearl feels suddenly cold without the touch. “I can hack any computer in my sleep.”

Pearl winces. “I have a feeling it’s his office computer... The one not connected to the network and behind like two locked doors and a hired gun.”

“Okay, that’s a little tougher, but if you get me in front of it, I can it get it open.” Marina digs back into her own laptop, and Pearl watches, amazed, as it begins to reform into something Pearl recognizes. It’s just that easy, huh. “I can get those files off in a snap.”

Pearl considers that. It won’t be easy to get Marina into that room, even if Pearl is the trusted daughter. Her father is notorious for his vigilance and paranoia, and the only time Pearl’s seen anyone else go in is to clean, often under her father’s bodyguard’s close supervision.

But...

“I think I have an idea.” Pearl darts to her feet and lunges for her bag, where her phone awaits her. “First, I have to call in some help.”

Marina doesn’t look up from her work, but it’s clear she’s listening as Pearl’s puts the phone on speaker. The call rings tinny and loud for a few seconds until it’s finally picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey Three,” Pearl says, “you down for a heist?”

“Oh, _hell_ yeah. You know it! What we stealing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is alive! Stop telling everyone I'm dead! 
> 
> How have you been? I've been busy with graduate school (one month left!), job hunting, and writing another Pearlina fic (that you can check out on my profile! It's called Demo Brew and it's a coffeeshop AU but it's also got drama and action and a bunch of SECRETS! Wow!)! Hopefully, I can update this fic more regularly now that things are calming down in my life. 
> 
> I already said this on my other story, but it bears repeating as we move forward. I know that the fandom likes to characterize Agent Three as some deadpan badass, but I saw that cape and my brain just said that she's a dramatic goober. A dramatic, over-the-top, silly child. So that's what she is to me.
> 
> BIG THANKS to everyone who's read and commented on this story even while it was dormant! There's not enough words in the world for me to express how much those comments meant to me while I was deep in graduate school stress, and I hope that this chapter was worth the wait! ;) 
> 
> Kudos are appreciated; comments are cherished!


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